Aerodynamics
by EllaBelleBrennan
Summary: "I was captured. I was victimized. I never thought evil existed. I never thought hate existed. After experiencing it in its most basic form, I'm finding it hard to believe love ever existed in the first place. I don't deserve it." Eventual Destiel
1. Chapter 1

Good evening my lovely Supernatural gods. Here is the first chapter to my very first fanfiction. Obviously, I don't own any of the characters or the show. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. I'm not sure how often I'll be able to post the following chapters but winter break is coming up and I'll be writing like it's the last day of my life. I tried my best to get out all of the kinks. If you notice anything wrong, please let me know. I want my writing to be mistake free. So, enough with my boring rambling. Get to reading!

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: Bloody Hell<strong>

Musk and dirt. This room smelled like shit. Dean took a moment to scan their budget-hotel room and noticed the rippled, textured wallpaper and the cracks in the off-white popcorn ceiling. Getting the most bang for his buck considering he only had a few. The two beds were draped with dark green, cardboard thin quilts and the same material hung over the small window on the east side of the room. He kneeled next to the bed and pulled up the quilt so he could peer under the bed. A rather large dead spider lay on its back, its legs curled upwards. It reminded Dean of a severed hand of a corpse.

Dean threw his keys on a tiny table in disgust, nose turned up, and proceeded to collapse on the bed, sending a cloud of dust into the air. He resisted a sneeze.

Sam threw open the motel room door, ducking slightly so he wouldn't knock his head on the low, splintering door frame. Dean lifted his head off the pillow and raised his eyebrows in question.

"Got any booze?" Sam rolled his eyes in response and searched for the TV remote. He hated how his brother called alcohol "booze." Dean was much too acquainted with alcohol as of late.

"No. And you don't need any either." Dean huffed.

"Not even as a celebration? Come on, we just sacked a witch! We chased that bitch for a week." His voice rose a bit but he only settled into the bed more, meaning he had no intention of actually getting up to hit a bar, if he could even locate a bar in this little town. Sam was grateful for that. He's had enough of "Drunken Dean" and too many nights he'd waist gallons of gas searching for bars and nightclubs. It was getting old. "Whatever, man. You're a bore." His eyes closed, relaxed, as Sam crawled into the opposite bed, ignoring the threadbare, itchy sheets and the grime on his clothes.

"Yeah, yeah. I know. You remind me every night." Sam put his arms behind his neck and studied the popcorn ceiling like he would clouds and watched as they formed random objects and images. "Hey, have you heard from Cas lately?"

The reply was delayed but curt. "Nope. Bastard probably has some 'war to fight' or 'God to find.'"

Sam starts to ramble. "It's a bit weird. We haven't seen him in so long and he normally checks in every once-and-a-while. I hope he's alright. I mean, I know the guy's busy and all but he's pretty punctual."

"Punctual?" Dean laughed. "Guy's got the worst timing ever. I say he just doesn't give a damn." In truth though, Dean called him- called him with his phone and with his head. He even prayed…_Once_. At this point, Dean didn't give a crap anymore. Apparently Castiel didn't care about his "drastic" efforts to contact him.

"No. I mean that he always appears when we need some help or if we're stuck in a rut. I wonder why he didn't come when we were tracking down the witch. I'm glad we found her before the curse she casted could take full effect." Dean winced. He didn't want to remember the curse. It had collided with him and started making his brain itch. He almost went delirious and committed suicide by trying to slice his head open to 'let the wasps out.' Urgh.

"Yeah. Dickhead. He's like a lizard. He's always around when you don't want him but when you look for him, he's never there."

"Mmm." Sam was drifting. It wasn't long after that the hotel lamp died out. Dean wouldn't admit he was peeved at the lack of the angel's presence. He did, after all, almost kill himself over a silly little curse. He absently grazed his fingers along the handprint burn on his arm—a weird twitch he started over the past few days. Where was he? Maybe he's taking up some cloud-seeding like he suggested. He smirked in the dark yet it felt bitter and fake. He was bitter. His brain churned until Sam's light snoring commenced and calmed Dean's thoughts and mind. At least he could rely on Sam to always be there.

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><p>The next few days were calm. Sam busied himself at his laptop searching for another lead on a hunt and Dean lounged around and took extra-long showers, reveling in the much needed respite. Apart from that, he sat and listened to the continuous click-clack of Sam's typing. It was nice to not have to worry. It was also nice to not have a reason to think.<p>

Dean was lying down on his side as he slid a hand over the bed quilt, tracing its diamond stitching. His fingers found a loose thread. As he twiddled with it, his brain became silent and eyes still, transfixed on a stain on the wall.

Sam pulled on his boots and slammed his foot into the heel, resulting in a loud thud. Standing up, he glanced at Dean's blank face. His lips turned down and he abruptly turned around, strutting to the door. "I'm going out to eat. Want anything?" He asked out of habit but he knew his older brother would answer the same way he has over the past few weeks.

"Nah. Not hungry." Of course. But Sam always brought him back something and Dean would always eat it. What the fuck is wrong with Dean? He's so _absent._ He slammed the door behind him as he walked out, pissed off at Dean's rather ignorant attitude.

Dean recognized the voice of his baby, his Impala, hum to life. The gravel crackled and groaned as her tires sped her away.

He sighed. He didn't know what was wrong with him and why he was feeling so blurry and hazed out. He let go of the loose thread and stood up. It was right then that things started to get weird. Bubbles prickled in his stomach and his breath came out in harsh rasps. "The fuck…?" The bubbles started to roll as if his gut was a vat of boiling water. He then recognized a familiar pricking in the back of his skull. He was _angry_. He reached across the nightstand and grabbed his neglected notebook and threw it across the room. The pages flapped and landed in a crumpled heap like a dying bird. He clenched his fists and covered his eyes, not understanding the reason for his weird outburst. But, damn he was mad. He let out an annoyed huff.

"UUGH!" A curtain of red flashed around the edges of his eyes and his hands wrapped around something cold. He felt his arm muscles thrash and his mind detach from his body.

_Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out._

He opened his eyes to a blanket of white and the world colored itself back into existence. As he shifted his weight, he heard the shuffle of glass beneath his feet. Damn it. He fucking broke the fucking _lamp._ "What the hell…?" His handprint burn tingled and he brushed it with his fingers again. He slumped onto the bed and buried his head in his hands. "What's wrong with me?" He said it aloud in a whisper even though no one was around to hear.

After a few minutes of continuous breathing, Dean collected himself and began to pick up the glass being very careful not to cut himself. He wondered what he'd tell the hotel manager. Shit.

After explaining to the manager a rather unconvincing story about a bird that flew though the open window and crashed into the lamp, he shuffled back to the room. The Impala was parked out front the one story building, covered with a thin dusting of gravel. On a whim, he pulled a spare car key out of his jeans (the ones he hasn't washed since 2001) and climbed into his baby. He cranked her up and tore out of the parking lot, not even bothering to caress her dashboard like he usually did. All his relationships were turning to shit lately. It was then he realized he forgot to say hi to Sammy. It was then he realized he didn't know where Sammy was. It was then he realized he didn't really care.

He drove around in circles for a few hours (not wanting to drift too far from the hotel in fear of getting lost) until he headed back to home base. The inside of the car was quiet. For some reason he didn't feel like listening to music. He just wanted a blank head. A loud plop echoed from the windshield. A water drop; a rather large water drop. Another one smashed onto the windshield, then another, until it was raining heavily. He turned the wipers on, whispering coaxes for them to work. Hey, sweet nothings usually got him what he wanted. Flashes of lightening streamed across the bruise colored sky and a booming roll of thunder split though the air. Nature was scary. The rhythm of the battering of rain and wipers relaxed him.

The dim neon pink, "El Cheapo Motel" barely glowed though the rain produced waterfall on his windshield as he turned into the parking lot. He accidentally hit a few flooded pot-holes, knowing the Impala was getting splattered with chunky mud. Once parked, he turned his leading lady off and reluctantly stepped out. Almost immediately he was soaked. But that was okay. He'd just take another long, hot shower. He sighed, contented by the thought.

Relaxing his shoulders, he tilted his head up to the sky. His eyes squinted in protection against the large drops. Oddly, even though it was raining, the sky was clear. Why? He remembered it being so dark earlier… He watched as a comet sliced through the sky. It burned a bright white and blue—a beautiful sight to such a dull, filthy town. A wave a peace flowed down Dean's body, settling warmly in his sternum. He welcomed it, relishing in the rare comfort. He sighed loudly once again and closed his eyes, letting the water stream down his face. "Make a wish…" He licked his damp lips when deep rumble rolled under his feet.

A screeching sound pierced though air at such a high pitch, Dean's hand immediately flashed up to cup his ears. The warmth that was in his chest disappeared. "Aaah!" He collapsed to the ground, knees colliding on the rough gravel and splashing mud onto his jeans and jacked. The screech transformed into a scream—a horrible kind of scream. It echoed deep in his heart and shook his spine. Then it hit him.

His scar _burned_. It burned with a kind of ferocity that reminded of his time in hell. He dropped one of his hands and he groped the scar over his twitching bicep, almost certain his arm would fall off. For one horrifying moment, the combination of the piercing sound and the burning of his arm, which spread across his shoulder and up his neck, he thought he was going to die. For real this time. The agony was blinding. As soon as his vision turned black, it stopped.

The first sensation he became aware of was the sluggish drip of blood running from his ears.

He stood, disoriented and swaying, allowing the world to settle in his vision—a mixture of asphalt grey, navy blue, and green. The first thing he saw clearly was a billowing pillar of smoke, roughly a mile away from where he was standing. The reason for the smoke was hidden in the depths of the thick forest. A cold and sharp gust of wind blasted past him, clearing his vision and well as smacking his face with needle pin-pricks of rain. Each water-needle pierced though his brain and brought him clarity.

Without thinking, Dean hopped back into the Impala and tore out of the parking lot, heading straight for the smoke. He knew something _very_ important just happened. Going 15 miles above the speed limit, he finally stopped on the edge of the forest- closest to the smoke. He scrambled out of the vehicle and slammed the door shut, trudging into the woods without a flashlight…And without a weapon. Dammit.

The ground was wet and mushy under his boots. He nearly slipped trying to jump over a few roots and the rain continued to pelt his cold body. It was so dark. He knew he was getting closer as he smelled sulfur. Under the sulfur stench was something light. It was…It was…_Jasmine_.

He heard a sizzle as he finally stumbled upon a small clearing. Five feet ahead of him was a hole dredged (or was it burnt?) at least 50 feet into the ground. "What the…?" He staggered forward, taking a quick moment to wipe away the blood that continued to trail along his jawline and neck, tugging at his light stubble.

The ground before him leaked steam—fucking _hot_ steam. It sizzled and hissed aloud and spit small sparks—like evil little sprites. The atmosphere was warped by the heat; the Impala's hood often did the same while under the burning Ohio and Texas sun. He stepped closer and peered into the depths of the hole, suddenly realizing how stupid he was for doing so without a weapon.

His brain automatically shut down upon peeking into the hole. His tongue went dry and his eyes widened. It felt like his heart made a fucktrillion mile trip to the earth's core and back in five seconds.

Inside the hole was an angel. Castiel.

Dean was on auto pilot. He jumped into the pit, not noticing how the heat from the hole burned through his boots and warmed his feet. He didn't even look at Cas's face. He slid his arms under the body's knees and shoulders and lifted him up. Get. Cas. Safe. Now. Time rushed by. One moment he was stepping out of the hole with Cas in his arms, then he was running to the car.

Blood pounded in his head, ears still ringing. Cas was unbelievably light, which helped the journey, but didn't stop him from getting his stupid-ass boot jammed on a root. His body lurched towards the ground and he lost his grip on Cas. The angel's body slipped out of his arms and collapsed onto the filthy forest floor with a thud and a disgusting crunch. Unable to control his fall, Dean landed on top of him in an awkward dance of flailing arms and legs. His elbow came into direct contact in between Cas's shoulder blades. Another blood-curdling screech sliced thought the forest, only this time, Dean recognized it was Cas's true angelic voice. It sounded like a train speeding on a broken track mixed in with claws on a chalk board. Dean faintly noticed the gentle ringing of bells in between the pain slicing though his head.

"Uurgah! Cas, stop! Quiet! You're hurting me!" The screeching subsided into the soft bells. The tinny jingles sounded faint and broken. Dean picked up the wrecked body again. Three minutes later, he made it back to the Impala and awkwardly laid Cas in back seat, very careful not to touch his back.

The next thing he remembered was pulling into the hotel lot. He felt the sensation of cold sweat prickle on his arms and neck, mixing in with the dampness of the rain in his clothes. He glanced in his rearview mirror at the comatose body in his backseat before stepping out of the car. He grabbed Cas's ankles and pulled him towards his body, effectively sliding him into his arms.

He came upon the hotel door and kicked it open, not caring as he heard the lock shatter. Sam startled awake from his bed, jumping up with wide eyes. "Holy FUCK. What the hell happened?" Sam practically screeched and he raced towards Dean, wrapping his massive hands on Cas's shoulders. He frantically patted the angel's limbs- checking them- while Dean lowered him onto the bed. He glanced at his own arms.

Dean realized that mud wasn't the only dark semi-liquid covering his body.

Only at this moment did Dean take a moment to look at Cas—really look at him. The first thing he noticed was how white his skin was. Bone white. He was also soaked; he was soaked in rain and in blood. The red liquid drained sluggishly from his nose and ears. Upon taking in the gory sight, Dean ran a hand though his hair. It was impossible to tell where Cas was injured. There was too much red. His hands were bound tightly at the wrists with a silver thread that looked far too delicate to have held the power to keep them together. He was clothed only in his slacks. His belt, shoes, and socks were missing. Dean climbed on the bed and slid his arm under Cas's shoulders, pulling him up while attempting to roll him to his side. His neck muscles were completely slack and his head slumped back. Poor bastard_._ "Shit."

Sam held his hand over the angel's nose and mouth. "Thank God, he's breathing!" Dean sighed in relief though his rough panting, adrenalin pulsing through his veins. "How the fuck did this happen?"

"I don't know! I came up to the hotel, heard a really loud noise, and I found dredged in a ditch." Sam blanched beside him when Cas's body lurched. Blood spurted out of his mouth and his ribs spread. Cas coughed. Dean and Sam noticed the white of a rib slide out of a gash in his skin. "Bloody hell."

"Crap." Sam withheld another gag.

"Go to the store to get some first aid supplies, now!" Dean spit out the words in a wicked frantic jumble.

"But…Don't…"

"NOW!" Sam grabbed the Impala's keys and ran. Dean prayed for a split moment that he left enough gas in the car for Sam to get back. Then he got to work. Cas's eyes were sunken yet swollen at the same time. His nose was cut and his lips were battered so bad…So _bad._ His hair was matted down with dirt and what also appeared to be fresh blood. "Oh, my god Cas, what happened to you?" His expert fingers delicately wiped away most of the grime and dried blood on Cas's chest so he could see his injuries more clearly. Some lines started to form in his sight.

Dean threw up over the side of the bed.

Cas's chest was grotesquely carved on. The slices appeared to be symbols but translated themselves into meaningless jumble to Dean's brain. Shivering from guilt and sorrow, he grazed his fingers carefully along his ribs, counting 4 to be broken, including the one slightly poking out of the skin. He gently but forcefully shoved it back into the body, hearing it crack as it slid in its proper place. He took in a sharp breath. "How could this happen to you, Cas?" Dean shook his head and closed his eyes, taking a quick moment to breathe in through his nose to calm the red rimming along his vision. Oh, he was pissed. He gently pressed his fingers to the symbols see how far deep they were carved into the skin.

The instant his fingertips tapped a particularly large gash, Cas's eyes opened. They bore into the ceiling, lacking any emotion. Dean froze—his heart leapt into his throat.

Cas remained expressionless for a second and then his face collapsed into a mask of raw agony. His eyes slammed shut and lips curled back as he opened his mouth. Dean expected to hear a scream, a grunt…Anything. Cas didn't make a sound. Only the faint tingling of bells seemed to chime in Dean's brain.

"Cas, Cas…Can you hear me? Please look at me. Cas, please. LOOK." Dean cupped his dirty hands on either side of Cas's face. He opened his eyes a sliver and his deep blue gaze slammed into Dean's soul. He gasped and his handprint scar burned with a newfound fury. Cas's pupils blew, only leaving a halo of blue around their black nothingness.

Dean felt like he was punched in the gut with an invisible force. He lurched forward and his forehead slammed into Cas's. He closed his eyes from the attack of images and sensations.

_Black. Inky blackness. I feel like I'm falling. Am I falling? No. Cold. There's something cold on my wrists. They're bound together. Why am I bound? What's rattling?_

Dean realized he was being fed this sensation. Are these Castiel's memories?

_My feet hurt. My head hurts too. What's going on? Ugh…_Where's Dean_? Where's DEAN? Ugh…Is he safe?_

_I hear footsteps. _

"_Hey, there. The pretty little angel woke up we see. How darling. How precious. How…honored….we are to finally meet you, angel. I was wondering if we hit you a little too hard up there. Those wings are mighty gorgeous I might add. It was lovely to watch you fall. Would you mind…? Oh, of course you won't mind. How silly of me. Oh, now, stop moving dearest, I only want to see your wings again and your pretty little face. How sweet, how precious." _

The slick voice snaked through his mind and Castiel's vessel began to shiver under Dean's hands. Dean felt like a mess. His head swarmed with confusion and pain and fear. Dean didn't know Castiel could be afraid. Oh, god.

_"Stop fighting, pet. Didn't you hear? We only want to play with your wings. It's alright now. There's no need to fret. If you move any faster you're going to slip and fall. Oh, see. I told you. Little angel took a tumble. Oh, stop it with that face. This doesn't hurt. This doesn't hurt at all. It shouldn't hurt an angel. No way. You're safe here, angel. "_

_The voice won't stop. The pain won't stop. Make it stop, please. _

Please, make it stop. Stop hurting Cas, you mother fucker!

"_Who is this you're talking about? 'Dean,' huh? Is he someone special? I bet he is. You keep calling him. Can't you hear yourself? Oh, shush. It's alright. You feel that? That's this new thing I invented. It's for tapping into the spine. It affects the central nervous system. Sweet angel, stop whimpering. It's not becoming. A-ha! I found it. How wonderful. Stop yelling, dearest. You're making this hard for me. Don't you want to be cut up clean? You're a mess. You're a stupid mess."_

_Stop. Stop. STOP. STOP._

Oh, god. STOP. Why are you doing this to my friend? Let him be! Dean felt himself sob, forehead still pressed to Castiel. He wondered if he was feeling Castiel's emotions himself. He couldn't stop the sobbing. The crying. The pain. His scar continued to scald.

"_Oh, well would you look at that. I think I just found your Grace. How do you like that you filthy creature of a fake god? I finally found the right tool. Perfect. Look at your Grace leak out of your eyes. That's pathetic. Stop screaming! Stop it! That'll teach you. The more you scream, the more I work."_

"_Obey me, little boy angel. Do what I tell you. Do what I want. Do what I please. He-he-he. Your Grace is bleeding now, angel. How do you like it when I cut your Grace? Oh, shut up! Stop screaming! Stop screaming!" _

_PLEASE! STOP! I'll stop screaming! PL-EASE!_

"_Shut up you stupid idiot. Dean's not coming. He's nowhere. You're worthless. You're nothing. Good, good. Behave, you dog. If you don't behave I'll have to…Damn it! Stop moving you worthless whore! Is this what you wanted?"_

_I didn't want any of this. It hurts. I can't fly away. They have me. They'll always have me. _

The vision stopped. Castiel's eyes bore into Dean's. Both were wet with tears.

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><p>I hope you enjoyed it. :) I know it's a bit short. Hopefully the next chapters will be longer.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Pain is Only Weakness Leaving Your Body

It was light. It was a morning kind of light, soft and warm. Dean fluttered his eyes open. Dust silently danced in the light rays that escaped the curtains. Despite the peace and stillness of the morning, he was uncomfortable. His clothes were grimy with old sweat, his hair was plastered to his face, and his hands were covered with flakes of dried blood.

Blood.

_Oh._

Dean vaguely remembered weaving hundreds of stitches, linen wrappings, and copious amounts blood.

He sat up quickly and sought out Cas with his sharp eyes. The Lord's warrior lay on what was supposed to be Sam's bed, exactly where he left him to rest last night. The light pooling from the windows swathed his body. An ethereal aura surrounded his being, reminding Dean that he was, indeed, not human. Even though he was in bad shape—worse than Dean has ever seen him—his bruises were more of a lavender color than an ugly purple. Light welts were gold instead of a dusty yellow. Dean thought even his face was…different. It had an other-worldly quality; he was too beautiful to be natural. He was an angel. Cas's linin dressings were blotched with seeping blood and his lips were dry and cracked. Both his lower and upper lip had huge splits. Dean had tried to do his best to heal those with only a bit of Vaseline. He hoped it helped. Those were going to be painful.

He tore his gaze from his friend.

Sam laid like a dead starfish on the couch, his long arms draping down the sides and fingers lightly grazing the floor.

Dean threw his legs over the bed, feeling a distinct weariness lodged deep in his muscles and bones. He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. Slowly, he stood and lumbered across the smelly carpet to his angel.

Cas's skin emanated a rosy glow. He sighed with relief and sat next to Cas on the bed, careful not to shift the bed too much. He watched as deep red liquid seeped into the night-old gauze. Shit. Dean got to work. He needed to replace to linen. He unraveled the soiled cloth and gathered it into a loose ball, shoving it in the trash can near the night stand. Cas's eyes flickered open weakly, brows furrowing in an adorable display of confusion. Like magnets, they shot straight to Dean's gaze.

His eyes grew wider. "Dean." The angel's companion was shocked at how crisp and sure his voice was. Cas inched back, the little pink tone in his skin draining slightly. He was obviously nervous but too proud to let it show more than it was. His body betrayed him. Cas's cold mask was replaced with mortification. He shot a trembling hand over his mouth, tendons jumping. It took a moment for Dean to realize Cas was trying to silence himself.

"Yeah, Cas. It's me. You're okay." He placed his hands in front of him in a calming gesture, palms outward. His eyes were filled with compassion and confusion. "What happened, man? You got hurt pretty bad."

Cas lowered his trembling hand, piano fingers slipping from his mouth. He seemed to notice its unnatural shivering and closed his other hand over it, attempting to stop it. His legs and shoulders started to shiver instead. "Y-yes." He whispered oh so quietly, eyes glancing up in an almost shameful expression.

"No shit." Cas flinched. "Hey, sorry. I didn't mean to lash out. It's okay to talk, Cas. Tell me what happened. Jesus."

Cas slumped against the back of the bed. "Forgive me." A sparkling tear ran down his cheek and he lifted a hand to touch it, perplexed at his lack of bodily control.

"Cas. Cas, tell me what happened." He kept his fingers on his face and his eyes glazed as he remembered. It scared Dean how many emotions Cas was showing. He was an angel for fucks sake. Angels weren't supposed to be so out of control and fragile.

"Am I…Are these tears?"

What could make his angel so _broken?_ Dean slumped forward and reached out to place a hand on Castiel's shoulder in attempt to comfort his angel. Not such a smart move.

Dean was not expecting Cas's reaction.

He jerked hard and skirted to the edge of the bed, trying frantically to escape from Dean's space. His feet bunched into the quilt, eyes wide with feral fear.

"Cas, careful-" Dean was unable to finish as Cas toppled off the bed. He landed with a heavy "Oof" on his back. Dean leaned over the edge of the bed, wary and ready to help Cas if he needed it. He wasn't about to pull a touchy-feely on him again.

He locked eyes with Cas once again but they were wide with shock. He made a choking noise, sounding like a wounded animal. "Cas? Are you-?" A scream cut though his lips and he arched his back at an unnatural angle. His angel voice slipped into the human dimension and Dean covered his ears. He watched nervously as the air warped around Cas's back.

Gigantic, black wings manifested themselves. They flapped outward in a powerful burst of muscles, pushing forward a strong gust of wind. The temperature dropped slightly and the sound on bells rang though the room, composing an eerie melody. The ashen feathers rippled like water and shimmed a dual color of sky blue. They mirrored the color of Cas's eyes. Red wetness glossed over the beautiful feathers. Red prickles of blood shot Dean across the face as they rolled of Cas's wings like water on a duck. Damn it.

A pressure built up in his skull and he felt like he was struck in the gut again. He wretched forwards and dark images forced themselves into his brain.

"_Are you ready to continue, dear pet?"_

_Cas tugged at the threads on his wrist weakly. The strings held his arms above his head, tangled around pipes on the ceiling. They were strong like spider-webs and had the ability to capture beautiful winged creatures. His feet barely grazed the ground. His wrists were raw and wet where the fibers cut into his skin. _

_For some reason, he could feel the pain as the thread shredded his skin. Was it the result of a spell, or was he being hindered by a supernatural being's power? The voice crept into his musings. He opened his eyes wearily. He felt something sharp and cold climb up his chest. He vaguely wondered if it was a spider. _

"_Obey me." _

"_I will never-" A fist joined with his face. "I will never obey you." He spat blood out though his teeth and snarled. He would give anything to break his binds and lash out. To release his wrath on the malicious entity before his would be quite satisfying. His eyes darkened at the thought. "I don't care what you do to me. I don't care how much I scream. I don't care. I will _never _obey you." _

"_Oh, your brothers sent you down here to obey me. It's my duty to make that happen." The same fist collided again with his face. Then again, and again, and again. His lip tore and blood and saliva sprayed outwards, decorating his skin. "I am obsessed with the hunt. I'm obsessed with the chase. I'm obsessed with you, little boy angel. And your brothers brought you to me as a gift. Believe me, you will obey me." _

_Suddenly, his wrists were harshly unbound and he fell to the floor in a crumpled heap. He quickly attempted to push himself up but a boot slammed into his gut. _

"_Gyugh." A cold fist wrapped around his hair and lifted him up. His legs weren't responding and he was too weak and weary to fight back._

"_I may be weak, daemon, but I will never give you the satisfaction of breaking me." _

"_Deaaaar. Don't be so defiant. Guess what? I brought you a present." Black eyes gazed into Castiel's hard blues. "Those baby blues are going to get so big; I can't wait to see your surprise." The hand released Cas's hair, letting him drop once again. _

_The daemon walked into the icy blackness, only to come back with a glinting, glass jar. The angel lifted his tired eyes onto the object, helpless against his enemy. He would never be broken. He would never, ever be broken. _

"_This here, dearest, is holy oil. Oh, wow! Look at that beautiful face of yours!" Castiel's heart fluttered. A fear clawed his brain, paralyzing his limbs. Shaky, sharp breaths escaped his nose and his fingers dug into the stony ground. "Oh, yes. Just the reaction I was hoping for." He shrank backwards like a cowering cat. The daemon stepped forward, giving Castiel a clear view of his black studded boots. Naturally, an embroidered little skull adorned its tip. The boots lifted up and pressed onto the back of his neck, shoving him down into a submissive posture. His heart wretched in protest against his submission but his brain was frozen. _

_The daemon pulled the cork out of the bottle. A loud pop resounded across the cell (was this a cell?). _

_He knew pain awaited him. _

_The only thing Cas could feel for an immeasurable amount of time was fire. Everything was fire. His skin was on fire. Jimmy was on fire. His Grace was on fire._

_There was no way of telling how long he burned. Time does not exist. Time is an invention of man-kind. _

_Humans were the only beings in the universe who were able to successfully measure something that does not exist. Time is multi-dimensional. It reaches up and down and does not restrict itself to a linear form. It is an intangible element. _

_Cas was stuck here. He was not moving forward in time, therefore, the burning would never stop. He wished he was a human so he didn't have to feel his Grace burn. He wished he was a human so he could pretend time existed. For just this once, he wanted to feel hope. He wanted to hope that his time being alive would run out._

_But the monster in front of him—dancing in delight in and feasting on his pain—had no such mercy. He could faintly hear the delighted shouts of glee coming from his captor over his own screams._

_Slowly, the overwhelming flame diminished into a throb. His entire vessel pounded as his blood rushed. _

_Gush. Gush. Gush. He could sense it in his ears and in his fingertips. Gush. Gush. Gush. _

_The beatings and the abuse continued. The evil spirit moved from his legs to his chest. Then he worked on his arms and his hands. Finally he reached his wings—the center of his soul and grace. The weapons didn't matter. He couldn't feel them. Their sharp edges, cold metal, and evil intent only penetrated his vessel, but nothing can compare to the humiliation and the shame. The monster's touch on his wings violated his very being. _

_No one can relate, but he had his resolve. He still had his honor, though it was shredded and defiled. He still had his voice, though it poured out of his lungs in waves of horror and pain. He still had his heart, though it threatened to crumble into pieces. His was determined to not be defeated. He was determined to not to owned. He would stay clean. He would not be cold. He would not be emptied. He would not be broken. He was not at fault. This unholy darkness would cease. _

_Just one more time, he would fly. Maybe there was a God above. Maybe he would learn what love was. Maybe there was still time. Maybe he could sing once more. There was so much more to do—to experience. _

_And then there was Dean. He wanted to be with the human at least one more time. He wanted to please the human. He wanted to make him smile. He needed Dean to be happy._

_He would find strength buried in this pain. He would seek out that light. He would make it out of this cave. He needed freedom now. _

_Would freedom ever come?_

_Would Dean ever come?_

Dean blinked his eyes and gasped at the air, starving for it. He gripped his shirt, tearing at the spot right above his heat. It hurt so badly. It ached like invisible hands were tugging at it, threatening to rip it out of his rib cage. His eyes met Cas's.

"You weren't supposed to feel that. I didn't want you to see it. I'm sorry, Dean. I'm so sorry." The angel was gasping also. He turned his head up, baring his neck and looking away from Dean—away from his agonizing wings, away from the reminder of his pain. He writhed, opening the wounds on his chest and stomach.

His wings still laid unfolded and the long, thick flight feathers splayed themselves like fingers on the floor.

"I didn't know." The words escaped Dean's lips softly.

"God. Fucking. DAMNIT." He buried his face in his palms, tears threatening an undignified escape. "I swear I didn't know, Cas. I can't believe I was here being a pussy about you not being around and you were stuck in a fucking _nightmare._ Gyugh." A gut-wrenching sob ripped itself from Dean's lungs. Slowly, the residual energy of Cas's memories died down, untangling themselves from around his heart. He sniffed loudly. Crying was a girly thing to do.

He lifted his head out of his arms.

Dean could almost taste the awkward.

The two of them stayed exactly as they were, scared to move and sniffing like little kids with colds. Dean coughed. His angel needed him. And God smite him right now if he was going to let some awful tasting awkward stand between his angel and him.

"Hey, man. Do you, uh…Do you want me to help you up?"

Cas shook his head. His face was as red as a polished apple. Cas's wing muscles twitched as he attempted to fold them to his body. He could only manage a weak, graceless flutter. Cas was obviously extremely embarrassed, mouth downturned and eyes glassy with shame. His fingers tugged at the plastic fiber on the carpet.

Dean remembered Sam saying that angel wings were kind of private. Oh shit. That sucks because Dean was staring at them for the past five minutes.

Dean looked away, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare. "He scratched the back of his neck. "This is lame. Also, you're bleeding."

"I—"He let loose a quiet whimper, "I noticed."

Dean made a move to get off the bed and help Cas up, instead Cas scooted backwards. "Aha." He accidentally let out another moan as his wings drug across the rough floor. Blood was starting to pool around him like an evil halo.

"Shit, Cas. Please let me help you. You're going to bleed out like that." Dean pleaded.

"I-I'm not comfortable with this." Cas scrunched his eyes closed. "But I do need assistance. Would you please—Aaah!" Dean was already crouched next to the angel and slipped a hand under his back, pushing him up. "Not so fast! Aaah! Please." Cas, white knuckled, grasped at Dean's shirt. Dean met Cas's watery, imploring eyes. His beautiful, massive wings dangled limply behind him.

"I'm sorry. Here, let's get you back on the bed." Dean whispered reassuringly. Slower this time, Cas gained his footing by pulling himself up by his death grip on Dean's shirt. Dean's hands were on the angel's back and under his arms. The angel's knees shook so bad. It was like he hadn't walked in months. "Easy there, easy."

Eventually they made it to the bed where Cas splayed out awkwardly on his stomach, wings still spread out. Dean sat down next to him, running his hand along the slightly blood stained quilt, gathering up the courage to check Cas's wings.

He hesitated a second longer. "Hey, I need to check out your wings. Will you be okay with me touching them?" He realized that it was an extremely drastic measure for an angel to trust a human with its wings. He must be polite. Too bad 'polite' wasn't really Dean's strong-suit.

Cas hesitated for a moment before responding. "Yes, Dean. I trust you."

Dean was shocked. Trust him? Cas's blind trust in Dean unnerved him. He shouldn't be trusted. Really.

"Okay. Here goes." His voice came out a lot shakier than he wished.

He reached out, gently skimming his calloused fingers along one of Cas's flight feathers. Although Cas expected the touch, he still twitched.

The feathers, although appearing coarse and fibrous, were unbelievably soft. They almost didn't feel real. He splayed his fingers deeply into a patch of downy feathers, marveling at their delicate warmth. It kind of felt like his fingers were surrounded by a warm mist. He started to run his fingers up and down the length of the right wing, checking for any obvious signs of injury. Cas let out a shaky, contented sigh into the pillow.

Holy cow. Dean was touching the wings of and angel. Talk about a surreal moment.

"So," Dean broke the silence, "are you going to fill me in? I mean…Apart from what you showed me?" Cas let out another trembling breath. The rich color of his fluffy hair matched his wings, a severe contrast to his sickly pale skin and bloody gashes that littered his frame.

"M-my allegiance with humans has confused my brothers. They think I'm _unclean._ Like…" Dean nodded for him to continue when Cas peeked over at Dean, "…They said I was a disease. I was beginning to feel emotions. They decided to keep a hold on me, unsure if I was going to do something drastic. They don't understand emotions. They think they're catastrophically dangerous and disgusting." Dean continued to run a comforting hand up and down the wing.

"They still have a bit of me, I think. I'm not entirely here…" Cas trailed off in confusion.

"What do you mean by 'not entirely here?'" Something was fishy. Something felt wrong.

"Something's missing." Cas started to panic at the realization set in, gathering up the thin quilt in his tightly fisted hands.

"Wait, wait. Hold the fuck on. Are you saying your brothers sent you on a hell -train and gave you to an evil fart knocker? Then he took something from you?"

Cas nodded, distress rising. The eerie bell music started ringing again. What was with that? He'd have to ask Cas later. The angel pulled his wings in slightly, wincing when Dean found a cut. "No…No, they didn't take anything from me. They…they branded me. They still have me, even though I'm not in their direct vicinity. I feel it tainting my grace."

"Like a tattoo?"

"Vaguely. Dean, you're not safe around me." His eyes bore into Dean's, begging him to understand. "They still _have me._" His voice cracked.

Dean understood fucking well what Cas was asking him to do. "Bullshit!" He spat. "I'm not going anywhere, Cas. You may be an angel warrior and shit but you're my friend! Now that I have you here, I'd be ashamed of myself if I even thought to leave. Nobody has you but _me. _You and I, man. We're a team and I'm so sorry I didn't know this was going on." Dean rambled, madness controlling his dirty mouth.

Cas's expression changed. Although pain and confusion swam in his eyes, they glinted. Even though he didn't physically smile, he felt a lick of happiness contact his soul. Cas was showing him his appreciation and blunt devotion.

"You and I. I'm not going away."

They shared a moment of peace, Dean's fingers tracing patterns in the sea of dark feathers.

The moment shattered all too soon.

Before Dean's eyes, invisible knives started to carve into Castiel's back. The angel gasped at the surprise onslaught and inhaled hollow, shallow breaths. Slowly-painfully slowly- bloody lines manifested themselves on the pale skin. They were small and superficial, seemingly haphazard. Then they started forming letters.

"D-Dean. What's happening? My back. Urgh." He writhed, invertebrate, ribs, and shoulder blades rolling sickeningly under his skin. His wings thrashed and twisted. It was grotesque.

Dean could only stare. Letters were being _carved_ into his skin… 'W'… 'E'…

"Dean? What's going on?" Cas panted. "Aaah."

Silence.

Next an 'A' appeared in a red line and then a 'K.'

"Dean!" A deeper gash ran underneath the letters, underlining them. It was drawn painfully slow and deeper than the rest of the lacerations.

"Weak." Dean whispered the finished word, stunned. Cas slumped into the bed, swallowing hard and gathering back his composure when the assault ceased. His wings collapsed, flight feathers grazing the ground next to the bed.

"Weak." Cas repeated in a whisper.

"There is the word 'weak' carved on your back, Cas."

"I showed weakness."

"What the actual fuck."

"I showed weakness in my emotions. Just a moment ago, I experienced contentment. I was weak in the eyes of my brothers."

"So, what? They're carving on your skin now every time you _feel_?"

Silence.

"I don't know, Dean."


	3. Chapter 3

I'm so sorry for the wait. As all of you know, winter break is very busy. I've changed my mind with the direction of this piece. Instead of making this a yummy short story, I'm going to give it a plot. It took me a little while to figure it out, but I think I have it. Any suggestions you have are welcome. I have very open ears.

Also, thank you for all the wonderful reviews. You all are awesome. Keep willing Misha to come back to the show as Cas!

And I promise the whumpage will calm down, although not too much.

Happy New Year!

Chapter Three: A Real Magician

Before his father introduced the dismal and horrifying world of the supernatural to him, Dean didn't believe in bad magic. Ghosts were only the phantoms of nightmares, vampires belonged in bad horror movies, and monsters were legends from silly children's books.

But he never stopped believing good magic was real.

When he was five, all he wanted was a pet dragon. He settled for an imaginary friend one. When he was six, he decided he wanted to be a UFO hunter and catch an alien. When he was seven, he wanted to be a magician. More than anything, he wished to perform good magic—real magic.

He remembered kneeling next to his mom beside his bed at night. He memorized the softness of his mother's hands as they clamped over his own small ones. Her long dark eyelashes would graze her cheeks while her rosy lips moved with wispy, loving words. They would pray together every night before he would go to sleep. As she'd guide him through his prayer, she would ask him to call upon angels to watch over their family. Sometimes she would use the angels' real names. She'd even call upon Archangel Michael. He believed these holy messengers of God would protect him in the ways his mother and father couldn't. They would always watch over him and he knew in his heart they would always be together and safe.

It's funny how things turned out.

But there was one angel that watched over Dean. There was one angel that made Dean believe there's good in the world. One angle made Dean believe good magic still exists.

That angel was hurting and waiting for him to perform his magic. The problem was…Dean was never really good at magic tricks.

Castiel laid face up, head carefully placed on Dean's crossed legs, wings properly concealed. The angel's face was calm, dark lashes brushing his cheeks, just like his mother's. The hunter cradled his head in his hands like he would a delicate flower. For the past few hours, the angel had been seizing and retching in painful bursts. Every five or so minutes he'd have an episode. Neither Dean nor Sam had any idea what was causing the convulsions.

Cas turned his head sharply, breath hitching in pain for the twenty eighth time that night.

"Nurgh!" Cas grunted through clenched teeth, eyes slammed shut, shielding them from the stinging sweat beginning to roll down his brow. Ripples of pain shot up Cas's spine, rocking his body in intense convulsions. "Gyugh! Dean!" He howled and reached up with a trembling hand and gripped Dean's shirt.

For the first ten or so episodes, Cas had been able to keep it together. He would suffer in silence and not mutter a word. Rarely would a grunt or groan would break his composure.

The seizures continued to get worse, each one more violent than the last. Now, Dean was trying to silence the angel, in fear the neighbors would hear his screams.

Cas bawled.

"Make him stop, Dean. Make him stop. _Please_. Please make him it _stop_ it." He sobbed loudly while both of his arms grasped and pulled wildly at Dean, desperately trying to get a hold on something tangible to bring him away from the agony. His fingernails scratched at the back of Dean's neck and down his arms, leaving behind bright red welts. Dean's heart ached as he tried to still his hurting friend.

"I wish I could, Cas. If I had the power to, I'd take it all away. I'd take it all away." He recited these words many times now. They had become a mantra. "I have you here, Cas. I'm here with you. He doesn't have you because I have you."

Dean didn't know who "he" was, but he hated him. He was going to kick that bastard's ass so hard.

"I'm going to kill whoever is doing this to you, Cas. I'm going to _kill him._" Castiel only continued to yelp and thrash. Dean felt so powerless. This angel protected and watched over him in selfless devotion. He rebelled for him. He lost _everything_ for him and there was nothing Dean could do to stop his pain.

Eventually, Cas's tremors died down and his breathing became normal save for a few hick-ups. He gently ran his fingers through the angel's hair, shushing him softly and somberly. He couldn't take the pain away, but he could try to sooth his mind. Cas unclenched his twitching fingers from around Dean's biceps. The hunter wondered if Cas was being electrocuted from the inside-out.

"It'll be okay, buddy."

Cas opened his eyes and gazed into Dean's. They were so big and glazed, swimming with agony. Slowly, their depths cleared, the pain chipping away. It was like watching a roaring ocean calm.

"Oh." The good angel seemed to have gained a decent sense of lucidity for the first time in the long hours he'd been retching. He tilted his head lazily back and forth, noticing his position in Dean's lap. He made a move to get up but Dean pushed him back down. "I sorry. Not trouble. Much. Sorry." His was trying to gain control of his frazzled brain.

"Cas, seriously? Are you fucking kidding me? Trouble? I'm just glad you're finally sane. You've been out of your mind for hours."

Cas turned his head away, face downcast. "Cas, god damn it, you're not a trouble. I'm trying to figure out what the hell is going on here! Who's doing this to you?"

Cas ignored him. "Where's Samuel?" His eyes roved around the room searching for a sign of the younger Winchester.

"Uh, Sammy went to get some meds from the store. We thought they might help with the pain."

"No, no, no." He slapped his hands over his eyes. "Human medication cannot aid me in any way." Cas was still slightly delirious.

"Well, to hell with that idea." Everything seemed hopeless right about now.

After a couple of minutes Cas let loose a deep breathy sigh.

"I do not wish to experience that again." Dean continued to run his fingers through the angel's hair. Hopefully the touch would liven Castiel up.

Dean watched his fingers thread through the dark hair at a loss of words. He didn't know what direction to turn to. He focused on the almost black locks of hair as they tickled the sensitive but calloused nerve endings on his fingertips. They grazed across something very, very soft. Whatever it was, it was much softer than normal hair. He tilted his head to peer down Cas's neck. His eyes were met with a tuft of very fine, white hair.

"Uh, Cas...You have some white hair here…" He mumbled under his breath. "…the fuck?" He stroked it again, perplexed by its softness. It felt like the angel's wings.

Cas reached around and placed his shaky hand over Dean's, finding the tuft easily. Cas touched the hair and froze. They sat there like that for a few minutes, Cas's hand over Dean's. The angel seemed to have withdrawn into a trance like state once again. His eyes were locked on the ceiling. Dean peered down curiously at the angel's face, wary he was going to have another seizure.

"Cas? Dude, are you okay?" Cas noticeably tensed and his limbs went stiff. Dean felt a wave shudder through Cas's body.

The air crackled and snapped like a rabid animal. The energy in the room ramped up and the walls hummed. The air around Dean went freezing, like an Arctic gust blew past him. Choking noises escaped from Cas's mouth.

"Cas? Cas! What the hell is happening?" The angel opened his mouth and deafening, hollow bells split through the air. A bright beam of blue light spilled suddenly outwards from the depths of his throat. He started to gag awfully as the light grew more intense, hands clasped on his neck. The beam had a piercing quality. It was sharp and almost corporeal. Dean was sure that if he'd stick his hand out to touch it, his fingers would be sliced to bits.

The light was bearable for a second more then the beam burst, illuminating the entire room in a severe, brilliant, dazzling light. Dean only caught a moment's glimpse of Cas's form before he slammed his eyes shut.

Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God. A cold fear churned in Dean's gut, paralyzing his brain. He was terrified. _Cas, Cas, Cas, Cas._ All he could comprehend at that instant was his friend.

The light receded, flickering out of existence from behind Dean's clenched eyelids. When Dean blinked his eyes open, the room was a blur of light colors and red dots. He blinked hard, clearing his vision. What he saw stunned him.

The good angel's hair was white. It wasn't just white, it was lighter than white. If heaven had a color, this would be it.

Hesitantly, he reached out and tussled it. It felt like it was made out of cold water, silk, and pure energy. Each hair was threaded crystal. It slipped through his fingers without snagging and sent his skin ablaze with pleasant tingles. It was so lustrous. It was kind of addicting. His gaze traveled to Castiel's face. His skin was flawless, 5 o-clock shadow erased and replaced with porcelain. It looked like Cas had a light-bulb under his skin. It glowed from the inside and radiated outwards in a gentle aura. His eyebrows and eyelashes were also white, but still visible and… radiant. He was undoubtedly gorgeous.

Dean reached down and touched his cheek, overcome with the dynamic sensations emanating from Cas's presence. Castiel's eyes moved slowly under his eyelids. He must have passed out. His chest moved up and down methodically. He looked calm, thank you Jesus.

Dean didn't know what was happening and why his friend went through an apparent transformation, but he did know one thing for sure:

Cas was _an_ _angel_. Dean knew the true meaning—the true _feeling-_ of an angel now.

Dean took a pledge to protect Cas. He would never let him out of his sight. He and Sam would solve this riddle. He would work good magic, somehow.


	4. Chapter 4

Hello everyone. I know this chapter is pretty confusing so just stick with me. I have a pretty complex plot...But it's good! I promise. Haha.

Thank you for the reviews also. You all are amazing.

Chapter 4: Welcome to Hopeland

**Twenty One Hours Earlier**

This was starting to get really, really annoying. All of it was annoying: his brother's absent state of mind, his freezing numb fingers, his greasy hair, and now his growling stomach.

He turned his head away from his laptop's screen to his older brother. He was lying on the bed, wallowing in self-pity and funk, plucking at quilt fibers. He kept his gaze locked on Dean and slanted his eyes.

"That's it." He stood up and slammed his laptop closed, probably harder than he should. He grabbed his heavy hiking boots and pulled them on, slamming his foot into the heel. He made more noise than necessary, thudding around like a two year old with a tantrum. Stupid, stupid Dean. Sometimes Sam felt like the older brother. He was more responsible, he had all the brains, he took the initiative in tough situations, and he could figure things out… All Dean could do was pout and wallow.

"I'm going out to eat. Want anything?"

"Nah. Not hungry." Fuck this. He stormed outside, gathering up the car keys before he left. He muttered under his breath.

"I've had it with you, Dean. Get it together. Just get it together." He slammed the door shut behind him. Gravel crunched loudly under his boots. The dust plumed as he intentionally dragged his feet across the lot. He looked up to the bruising sky. Blotchy clouds loomed above the pine trees and concealed the sun completely. He reached into his pocket at pulled out the Impala's keys, hurriedly climbing inside the car.

"Food, here I come." He cruised out of the parking lot, cooling down his aggravation. His separation from Dean was already helping him calm down. He rolled to windows down in the car. The wind was freezing but also refreshing. This is what he needed, a nice car ride. He needed an escape.

He meandered his way through snaking, two-lane roads. This place was oddly magical. It wasn't often when he could relax and enjoy _being._ Through his many years of being a hunter, he had never had a chance to breathe and to explore. He wanted to see the world and study cultures. Hunting wasn't in his blood like it was Dad's or Dean's. His dreams were different. He was simpler. Being a lawyer would have made him successful, sure, but now he wished he'd went to school to become a teacher. He liked history.

Sometimes he wished this wasn't his life.

He wouldn't change anything though. He belonged with Dean. He was a hunter. This was his duty—his responsibility.

After several miles more, he rode onto an interstate. Snow peaked mountains loomed in the distance. Street lamps hung over the roads on rusty posts but they did not glow, even though the sun was setting. Two lanes grew into four and there was not a car in sight. He turned on a random exit and it dumped him into a small town. He slowed down his pace and studied the stores and buildings, scouting for a diner or burger joint.

The streets were void of any lights or cars, which was weird. There weren't any people out either, which was _really_ weird. He slowed down even more, paying close attention to small details. He passed a children's toy store. All the lights were turned off. There was a train set display in the window, box cars frozen on their rout. A robot dinosaur was on its side, mouth open in mid-roar. Other toys which were supposed to be in motion were all frozen in unnatural positions. They were all petrified.

Restaurants had half-eaten dishes lying about, all abandoned.

This place was a ghost town.

On impulse, he reached down and flipped on the radio. He twisted the dial back-and-forth, searching for any kind of signal. All that came through was static. _Oh shit._

He gripped the wheel with both hands.

The car mysteriously slowed to a stop. He stole a quick glance to the gas tank—there was still plenty of fuel left. He didn't even touch the brake pedal.

"Crap, crap, crap, crap! This can't be happening." He suddenly wished he knew as much about cars as Dean did. He'd know how to fix this. Why was the car stopping, damn it?

Unless…unless something supernatural was going on. It wouldn't surprise him.

The car stopped to the right of a cemetery. A towering wrought iron gate guarded the dead land. The iron stakes ended in hideous points and dull green ivy coiled around their rusty bases. Weeds grew around the gate uncontrollably. Welded into the wrought iron was the name of the cemetery.

"Hopeland Cemetery." Sam scoffed lightly when he said it out loud. He tried to lighten the bleak atmosphere that surrounded him. It seemed everything was in gray-scale. All life was gone. All color was gone.

"Aw, man. This is freaky. This is definitely freaky. Why am I talking to myself? This is crazy. Stop it Sam. Just relax." He gathered up his confidence and guts and opened the car door. He wanted to know what was going on. If was happening had anything to do with the supernatural, he was going to find out. He stepped out of the car and his feet were met with soggy grass. Cautiously, he approached the gate. The iron felt like icy scales under his soft fingers. He clasped them tightly around the rods. The cemetery laid silently beyond, blurred by a tranquil fog.

Silence. Pure silence.

"Good day, Samuel."

A sultry, rich male voice penetrated the stillness. Sam snapped his head to the left and his gaze fixated on a monster.

Its eyes were golden and sharp, oblong pupils piercing into Sam's. Its face was a black horse head. The fur was glossy and slick, much like its voice. It was wearing a very fancy suit with a red bow tie. As it turned its head, it smiled. Instead of bearing flat, herbivore teeth, it had small, pointed, fangs. They reminded Sam of teeth on a zipper—they fit together perfectly. Being in this being's presence was chilling. The thing's eyes were locked on his. He couldn't help but feel like a rabbit under the stare of a mountain lion.

"What-what are you?" Sam had never seen anything like this beast.

"What am I?" It flared its nostrils. Steam strewed from it nose and into the cold night air forming artistic, ethereal wisps. Sam stared at it, wondering if it had possessed any hidden messages. Native Americans used to communicate through smoke clouds. They'd form patterns, shapes, and words. It shook its head lightly as it spoke.

"It would be proper to ask _who_ I am, dearest. My father named me Aka Manah." Its spectral mane swished, slicing the fog with its thick, silky tendrils. Its top half's mannerisms were definitely animal-like but its lower body maintained a suave, human stance, left leg propped over the right. It perched on the edge of an ornate concrete sarcophagus with its shoulders squared and back poised. Polished leather shoes gleamed beneath the hem of fine, pinstripe pants.

"You're a demon." He spit it out, instantly recognizing the being's name. "What are you doing here? I have no business with you."

Its eyes glinted as if struck by a piece of flint. "We do have business, young one. Your subconscious wished to form an agreement with me." Sam casted his eyes downward. He seriously didn't want to get involved with any more demons.

"No. I know I've had my fair share of deals with demons but I would never summon you. You're the demon of evil intent. You sneak into people's minds and make them doubt their morals. I-I have enough trouble with my feelings already. Leave me alone." Sam threw his hands up and turned around to head back to the car.

The car was gone. Surrounding him was a blanket of white nothingness. The town was gone. Even the mountains and trees had disappeared completely. "What the—What did you do?" He whipped back around.

The graveyard was gone. The fence was gone. Everything was gone except for Aka Manah, who stood a few feet away. The world was white and he was alone with one of the most powerful demons in hell.

"I never enter anyone's mind without their permission. You may not have called upon me but I heard your intentions. You wanted me here, so I acquiesced." Aka Manah stood a foot taller than Sam. It was unbelievably tall, boring down onto Sam. The hunter narrowed his eyes.

"You are in my mind."

"You are wise, Samuel. You surpass your brother in many ways." Sam grunted in agreement. Cold sweat prickled at his skin when he realized he had just agreed with a demon. This particular demon fed off fueling anger. He had to be extremely careful with his thoughts.

"Stop. Stop. What do you want from me?"

"We have a prophesy." The evil being focused on Sam's eyes intensely, suddenly taking on a gravely serious attitude. It demanded attention and respect. "Listen without speaking. We are gathering armies. The angels are many and we sense something is ascending—something very powerful. You will remain here, traveling back and forth between dimensions. You must be guarded."

"Are you telling me I'm trapped here? You can't do that!" Sam began to shake.

"Yes I can."

"I didn't ask for this!" He spat, teeth clacking together. The demon stepped forward, expensive shoes clacking, resembling horse shoes. The hollow sound echoed in the nothingness. The evil spirit tilted its head, focusing one eye on Sam. It was hypnotizing. Gold flecks swarmed in liquid fire, setting Sam's mind aflame. The white nothingness that surrounded them exploded into flames. Mad red colors flashed in the space, sending his skin on fire. Smoke formed invisible hands and wrung his neck, yanking out every ounce of clean air out of his lungs. His eyes erupted hot tears. Agony.

The demon's words reverberated in a low menacing tone. "You don't have a choice. You belong to me now."

The being and the flames evaporated. The smoke coagulated in Sam's throat and trailed down his stomach. Oh God.

He promptly threw up. Grey matter spewed across the floor. He stumbled forward and gripped his stomach.

"Dean, Castiel…I need you." He groaned. "Castiel!" He screamed into the void of his mind.

* * *

><p>Blood spotted saliva dripped sluggishly out of Castiel's busted lips. He hung motionless from thin silver threads. His arms were pulled over his head and his feet slicked across blood puddles on the stone floor. He was spent. He had given up and quit fighting. His tattered wings were limp. It took all of his energy to just breathe—to just exist. The world around him and the world from under his eyelids was black. Black was his present and future.<p>

_Castiel_…_I need you._

He fluttered his eyes.

_Castiel!_

They snapped open. Blue eyes blazed in the dark.

Sam Winchester was calling him.

A fury of devotion and loyalty collided with his gut, gifting him a burst of energy. He reached inside himself and called upon his grace. Previously, he had shoved it far away to shield it from the torture. He was unsure if he had pushed it into the cosmos or just deep inside himself but it was depleted and insignificant now. It had been scraped at, clawed at, stabbed at, and violated through the most revolting kinds of sins. He frantically dug at it with his psyche. He needed to reach it. He needed to get to Sam.

He was getting closer. He dug at it faster, faster, faster. Get it, get it, get it_._

_CASTIEL. _

Get it, get it! His stretched out his psyche as far as it could reach, envisioning tendrils of light illuminating the dark corners of the galaxy. They flew past suns, planets and wormholes. They flew into millions of heavens, hells, and in-between dimensions. They sped by faster than light and faster than laser. He was getting closer.

The light stopped. He had found something… but it wasn't his grace.

It was Sam. He had found Sam. Good, that's good. But where's the grace? He left some of the light wrapped around Sam and the rest sped off. They tumbled and twisted though space and he felt grace tugging at him. It was familiar and welcoming, although tiny.

And there it was. It was beautiful, so beautiful—a beautiful thing in a dark moment. But there is was. He dived into it.

Home.

The light knotted together in a perfect shape of organized chaos and then it burst into tiny pieces of star dust. It was a reunion between a heavenly host and an angel. The light pierced through Jimmy's eyes, mouth, ears, and nose. His finger tips and toes also emanated beams of heavenly light. Now he could get to Sam.

He pulled his heavy wings off the floor, fresh blood dripping off of the feather tips. He beat them, mixing the vitality of a body and the essence of a divine phantom in a rush of vibrant colors. Then he was off. His arms were still bound together but his wings flapped as fast as they could go.

When he found Sam's spirit—stuck in an astral form—he drug it through the millions of layers of dimensions and time zones until he reached the year of the apocalypse. He found Dean's spirit projection and Sam's body. He transported the Impala near to Dean's location and Sam's spirit back in his body. He was becoming weaker, draining the energy in the second set of lungs he managed to find. He was able to place Sam's body in Dean's hotel room.

Finally. He was becoming weaker and weaker but still flying fast. He lost control of his movement and his wings cramped up, partly from injuries and partly from exhaustion. He then realized he wasn't flying at all…He was falling. He tried to guide his falling in Dean and Sam's direction as he plummeted downward. He lost consciousness.

* * *

><p>The door burst open.<p>

"Holy FUCK. What the hell happened?" Dean burst in with a massacred, lifeless body in his arms. He jumped off the bed and rushed towards his brother. He felt an instinct to touch the body. The being's energy was hurt, so very hurt. He wrapped his hands on the body's shoulders and smoothed them over the man's limbs. Dean lowered him onto the bed slowly. He glanced down at the man's face.

Castiel. Oh my god.

* * *

><p><strong>Six Hours Before Present<strong>

Dean and Sam were asleep. They had previously stitched up Cas's back slowly, stunned into silence. The word "weak" was a complete mystery. Castiel didn't have an inkling to who or what caused it. The only thing he could do now was rest.

He was oblivious to the world while healing. The atmosphere was somber and quiet. It was perfect. Sleep was silent before the dreams crept in.

It was strange because…well…Cas had never dreamt before.

It started with the hollow sound of pounding hooves. Cas remembered watching thousands of battles over the course of his existence. He remembered the sharp clashes of metal, the whirring of arrows, and the screams of men. But over the bleak sound of war, the echoes of horse hooves were always the loudest. Horses have more grace than man ever will.

Phantom black horses galloped behind his closed eyes. They thundered across his dream scape in a blur, ethereal forms cascading around his vision. Although wraith-like, their muscles rippled with raw energy. Eyes flashed like evil lightening bugs as they danced. They started to sing to him. It was high pitched and haunting. Their dancing became faster and faster. They cantered around him, occasionally snapping at him with sharp fangs.

Cas realized they were taunting him. They drew closer and closer with malicious intent. They whinnied louder and the sound started to pierce into his brain. The sound waves grew and grew sending tremors down his spine. It became painful, so painful.

He felt like he was crying out. They started to bite him, their fangs diving into his skin with ease. The pain cascaded into raw, unbridled agony. He felt his body writhe. He clawed and scratched and screamed. Get it OUT! GET IT OUT!

It spoke to him, whispering about a dark plan. It was driving him insane.

Vaguely he sensed warm hands on his shoulders, trying to calm him.

Dean, oh it's Dean. Dean, please make him stop.

"Dean!" He sobbed.

* * *

><p>Here you go! Man, I really write a lot of whumpage don't I?<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

Hello everyone. I'm sorry for the wait, as always. The chapter after this one will kick up considerably, I promise.

And thank you so much for all the reviews! I love you all! Also, thank GOD Cas is back! I can't help but be extremely nervous and scared though. I hope the writers give Cas what he deserves or they are going to get some serious whooping!

Chapter Five: Delicious 

Dean sat perfectly still, the transformed angel's head cradled tenderly in his cupped hands. His eyes were fixated on Cas's face, mesmerized. Dean had never seen so much beauty in his life, yet alone held it in his hands, the same hands that acted out unimaginable torments.

If he moved, Dean though Cas would shatter like a porcelain doll. The hunter inhaled shallow little breaths, not wanting to rattle Cas even in the most minute way.

A light blue aura hovered around the angel's body. The air surrounding them was humming so low it couldn't be heard—it could only be felt. It gently thrummed his body with a soft vibration like a warm comforting embrace.

Ever so tenderly, Dean slid his hand from the back of Cas's head, combing his fingers through the heavenly white locks as they traveled backwards. Once his hand was free, he gingerly brushed a stray lock of white hair off of Cas's forehead. He returned his hand to the back of the angel's head and released a light, contented sigh.

"I'm back! I'm back!" Sam erupted from the door, immediately crushing the serene and ambient atmosphere. He loudly dumped a full plastic bag on the tiny kitchenette and started pulling out random bottles and first-aid supplies, flashing their labels to Dean, oblivious to his brother's horrified expression. Dean wordlessly tried to shush Sam with his glaring eyes but the younger Winchester rattled on.

"I got some pain meds and narcotics that will hopefully knock him out. How's he doing? Is he alright? He's not convulsing any more, is he?" He hurriedly fumbled with some hydrogen peroxide and cotton balls and brought them over to where Dean sat, unaware to Cas's current comatose state. "I have to clean up those scratches Cas made on your arms. Some of them were bleeding earlier." His boots thudding as he jogged across the room.

His eyes finally found Cas.

The peroxide and cotton balls thumped to the ground.

"Oh my God" Sam's voice came out in a soft whisper, taking in the angel's transformation.

"He's out like a light, Sammy. Keep it quiet." Dean tried as hard as he could to make his whisper sound threatening.

"What-what happened to him? He's…He's…" Sam wrapped his arms around himself, shuddering. "What's that feeling?" He paused for a second, contemplating. "It tingles."

"Yeah, I know Sammy. All I know is that a big light came out of his mouth and it was really bright. I couldn't see. When the light went out he looked like a glow worm."

There was a long, pregnant pause.

Sam quietly whispered, "He looks like an angel."

Dean pursed his lips and quirked his eyebrows, "Well, duh. That's kind of what he is. All that gets me is why this is happening. I mean, why the heck does he have white hair?"

"Wow." Sam stooped down to pick up the items and approached the two men on the bed. He quietly sat down on the bed next to the pair. He reached a strong hand out to touch Cas's face, perplexed at its creamy, radiant complexion. Dean snarled.

"Don't touch him!" Sam shrank back.

"Sorry, sorry. Gosh, touchy." He rolled his eyes. "He's not going to break, Dean."

"You don't know that." He growled under his breath. The two men sat there for a few minutes in a contemplative silence, staring at a loss of words at the angel. The aura around his body pulsed subtly and warm air puffed slowly out of his nose while he exhaled.

Sam broke the deep silence. "Uh, should we wake him up?" Dean continued to stare at Cas as he answered.

"I think we should. But I'm going to do it, not you." He didn't want to wake the slumbering angel at all, but if it had to be done, he was going to do it.

"Whatever, man. Maybe he knows what happened. Go ahead." Dean shifted his hands once again and rested them of Cas's shoulders, shaking them slightly. Sam glanced at the long red scratches on Dean's arms.

"Hey, Cas. Can you wake up? Come on, man. Don't leave us in the dark." When Cas didn't respond, he shook a little harder.

Cas inhaled sharply and jerked his head to the right. A low, disgruntled grumble erupted from deep within his throat. "You here with us, Cas?" Castiel's eyes hazily fluttered open and his white eyebrows furrowed. Dean was stunned by his eye's stark cobalt color. Next to the angel's pristine skin, his eyes were like swarovski crystals. They were alien.

Cas visibly shuddered when he and his charge made eye contact. "Dean?"

"Yeah, it's me. Sam is here with us too." Cas looked over and met Sam's awestruck gaze. Cas's eyes narrowed immediately in scrutiny.

"Samuel, what did you do? Earlier when I was with Dean my memory failed me. Now… I-I remember you called me. Why were you in another dimension?"

Sam gawked, flabbergasted. Under Cas's piercing, other-worldly gaze, Sam felt like a mouse under an eagle's stare. He answered slowly and carefully. "I don't know what you are talking about." Dean stayed still, hands continuing to rest on Cas's shoulders.

Cas replied simply. "Black horses."

Both Winchesters repeated the two words simultaneously in question.

Cas frowned at Sam. "You don't remember."

"No, Cas." Sam said, "I don't know anything about black horses and I don't remember being in another dimension." He scoffed lightly, trying to lighten the mysterious looks Cas and Dean were giving him. Cas closed his eyes. His aura wavered, flickering slightly.

"I don't understand. I remember being alone and in pain and then I heard you call me. I found you in another dimension and I brought you back here with…with the car. Then I woke up with you, Dean…With the—with the letters. I didn't remember then, but I do now… And then there were black horses. The black horses were everywhere." He mumbled towards the end of his ramble.

Dean spoke up, "I don't know anything about the horses but you have to tell us why you suddenly look like a human light-bulb." Cas looked back up with him with more confusion. Then he took a peek down at himself and slowly lifted his hands, touching his fingers to his snow white hair. He gasped lightly and clenched his eyes shut again in deep focus. They shot open again in an epiphany.

"My grace has surfaced." His voice quivered. "It is not inside of me anymore. I must not have buried it properly after finding it. I didn't keep it safe when I crashed. That's why I didn't remember being in another dimension." His eyes glittered.

"Wait, wait, wait…What?" Dean stopped Cas from talking by placing a gentle hand over his forehead, checking for a fever. Cas was pleasantly warm and his hand tingled from the contact with the angel's skin. "So, your mojo is in your skin or something? Is that why you are all white and glowing? You look like a polished baby's butt." Sam scoffed at the disrespectful metaphor.

"Yes, I believe so. " He flexed his shoulders smoothly, obviously testing his wings. "My wings are healing. I can't believe it. I…I didn't think they'd ever be what they once were after…After…" His face crumpled slightly, eyes watering.

"Hey, hey Cas. It's okay. You're here now." Dean massaged Cas's shoulders gently. He was thoroughly confused at this point.

"Dean," Sam whispered specifically to his brother, "he's like a prisoner of war. Who knows what happened to him or what they did to him." He sighed, feeling like a third wheel between the intense eye contact Dean and Cas started to share. "I'm going to go out again. I'm goin' to get some ice-cream. Maybe Cas would like some too." He stood up and walked briskly out of the room, quietly shutting the door on his way. Dean barely noticed his departure, lost in the angel's gaze.

Cas's eyes were glossy crystals, pristine and clear. The air around them hummed louder, making the hair on Dean's neck and arms stand erect. Cas's aura spread out and enveloped Dean in a hug, joining their energies together. The hunter relaxed immediately. It felt like he was pure and holy. He felt like a child again. He lost himself in the sensation, vaguely noticing the tears that dripped down his cheeks. He felt free.

"Cas."

"Yes, Dean?"

"We're going to figure this out, okay?"

Cas reached a hand up and grazed Dean's cheek. "Okay, Dean."

They stayed like that for a while, sharing comfort in each other's energy. Slowly the tears running down the hunter's cheeks stopped. His tension and worry were gone. He ended up slumping forwards and lying next to Cas, and they both relaxed into sort of yin and yang positions, Dean's head next to Cas's feet and vice-versa.

Dean patted the angel's leg. "It's nice to see you awake and okay, man. It's been a long night." Cas peered down at Dean. "You look so different."

Cas turned his head away from Dean. "Is it unpleasant?"

Dean scoffed. "No, it's just weird." They were silent again, but it wasn't uncomfortable. "Tell me about the dimension thing. Tell me what you remember."

Cas swallowed nervously, his subtle adams-apple dipping. "I was bound and I couldn't fly. I was left to be alone and then I heard Sam call me from another dimension. He needed help. I rushed to get him by searching for my grace. When I found it and him, I brought him back here. He was hurt somehow and he needed to be with you. When I woke up, I had totally forgotten what had transpired. But when I was sleeping…When I was hurting…It was from black horses. I can't help but believe that maybe Sam was involved with a demon." Cas peered into Dean's eyes. "It hurt."

Dean instantly sat up and cupped Castiel's face in his hands. He felt extremely out of character right now and was—oddly- very comfortable with touching his angel.

He gazed deep into his friend's eyes in reassurance. Cas gazed shamelessly back into Deans before he fluttered his eyelids shut and breathed out a supple, indulgent sigh. Electric tingling coursed through Dean's fingertips and into his shoulders, but most of it collected in his hand-print scar. Cas nuzzled his face deeper into Dean's warm palms. This whole situation was very unusual feeling, but in a good way. With Cas in his hands, Dean felt like he could conquer the world.

"You know everything is going to be okay, right Cas?"

"When I'm with you, I know it will be."

Dean chuckled light-heartedly and set his forehead to the angel's.

"Because it will be, it will be. I'll make sure of it, buddy." He pushed himself off of the angel to lie back down next to him. Together, they slipped into a blissful sleep.

* * *

><p>Gleaming leather shoes clacked against cold stone. Tiny water puddles slinked drudgingly through the cracks in the stone floors, repelled from the energy radiating from the powerful creature in the fancy shoes. The being's stride was long and determined. The hallway it traveled in was a wormhole, dark, damp, and never ending. Echoes of its footsteps resounded through the hall like evil resounds in the hearts of every living soul. They were hollow and cold, and distantly threatening. It was beautifully sinister, its steps calculated and deadly.<p>

The tunnel became narrow and a red glow emulated from its end. The color and shadows licked the walls like snake tongues. The creature smirked. It was getting closer.

Its steps intensified, long legs kicking forward gracefully and seductively. It approached the light and opened its arms in a welcoming gesture, embracing the heat of the flame and the cries of tormented souls. They screeched and writhed in its presence. It smiled. The sight was exquisite. The richness of their screams and the color of the blood were purely delightful. The creature wanted to taste the blood and to taste their rotting flesh-simply delicious.

The being was raising them, his children. It was harvesting their souls. They had a grand purpose and a bloody purpose. It would be glorious and oh, so delicious.


End file.
